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A barista, Tim, hypersexualises his position, using his body to earn extra tips, and is the highest earning barista at his store. He has a few customers he gets a tad bit flirty or physical with, and some tip him a little extra for it. One day, the perfect man enters Tim's store, and Tim almost dies wanting him.
This is an erotic short story of three thousand words intended for mature audiences only, which includes multiple gay sexual acts, cum drinking, and a reckless disregard for personal space!
--READ AN EXCERPT--
The usual short da-ding announced the arrival of someone new.
Tim looked up from wiping the counter to have his eyes overwhelmed by this god.
Wearing a skin tight tank top, with warm thick stripes of a dark scarlet and a bright red accentuating a perfect tan, this man was what Tim looked for in every GQ magazine.
He was perfect.
Electric blue eyes and a flash of messy blonde hair accompanied this man's warm inviting face. A sharp jaw line and slight hint of stubble just gave this man an alluring "je ne sais quoi" that simply made Tim drool.
He wished he could call Oprah right then and there and name him sexiest man alive.
"Uh, hello?"
Tim didn't want to remove his eyes from the six pack announcing its presence from the tank top, but also didn't want to ignore the slight hint of a bulge that peeked out from this man's black basketball shorts.
Tim struck his mind from it after realizing he was eyefucking a customer before they even said hello and knew his name. And, finally, after a pause that was perhaps a tad bit too long, Tim squeaked a little "Hello, want anything to drink today, sir?"
"Yes, just a latte please, with a pump of hazelnut."
This is an erotic short story of three thousand words intended for mature audiences only, which includes multiple gay sexual acts, cum drinking, and a reckless disregard for personal space!
--READ AN EXCERPT--
The usual short da-ding announced the arrival of someone new.
Tim looked up from wiping the counter to have his eyes overwhelmed by this god.
Wearing a skin tight tank top, with warm thick stripes of a dark scarlet and a bright red accentuating a perfect tan, this man was what Tim looked for in every GQ magazine.
He was perfect.
Electric blue eyes and a flash of messy blonde hair accompanied this man's warm inviting face. A sharp jaw line and slight hint of stubble just gave this man an alluring "je ne sais quoi" that simply made Tim drool.
He wished he could call Oprah right then and there and name him sexiest man alive.
"Uh, hello?"
Tim didn't want to remove his eyes from the six pack announcing its presence from the tank top, but also didn't want to ignore the slight hint of a bulge that peeked out from this man's black basketball shorts.
Tim struck his mind from it after realizing he was eyefucking a customer before they even said hello and knew his name. And, finally, after a pause that was perhaps a tad bit too long, Tim squeaked a little "Hello, want anything to drink today, sir?"
"Yes, just a latte please, with a pump of hazelnut."
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